


Tense

by Militia



Series: Star Wars Fics [12]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:15:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23095450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Militia/pseuds/Militia
Summary: Corin and Din have some unresolved issues after their last run in with the imp.
Relationships: Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Star Wars Fics [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867885
Comments: 18
Kudos: 122





	Tense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIrina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts).



He couldn’t stay still. He itched with the need to move, so, making sure the kid was being looked after with the other foundlings he was playing with, Corin went in search of an empty room he could train in. He couldn’t do nothing, he couldn’t keep being useless.  
Finding one that would suit his purposes, some small good luck, he soon started to lose himself in the rhythm of his workout. It just wasn’t enough though. Still he’d hear Gideon’s laugh echo in through the door, feel phantom bruises and the spray of blood across his face as a blaster echoed through his thoughts. Still he felt himself falling into a pit of fear, scared that he’d wake up and he’d still be imprisoned, sentenced for execution. Still afraid that he’d be in a world where Din wasn’t, ruled by the bad luck that followed him everywhere. Luck wouldn’t be this cruel, would it?

He kept going until his arms collapsed underneath him, leaving him in a panting heap on the floor. Then he rolled over and began crunches. 

He was tense, his chest winding tighter and tighter with an unnamed pressure. It felt like he could snap at any moment. Some bad luck, circling around him.

He blamed that on the reason he jumped at the door opening, almost falling when he tried to lift himself up with a still burning arm.  
“Din?”  
He seemed awkward, hesitant. Standing in the still open doorway rather than coming all the way in.  
“I, just thought I’d check up on you.”  
Before Corin could answer, he kept going, “Just, uh, wanted to see how you were.”

He seemed stilted, his voice a bit off. Not quite right. Bad luck?  
“Just doing a bit of training.”

Din nodded, still seeming rooted to the spot.  
Just before Corin could question if he was alright, he asked, “Can I stay here?”  
Frowning, he nodded. Did he think Corin would say no?  
Taking the confirmation, he finally moved into the room, the door shutting behind him. With it, the noise he hadn’t even realised had been filtering in through the opening was cut off.

Corin went back to his workout, deciding to move onto some pull ups rather than go back to crunches. His arms protested as he lifted himself up. Feeling hot, he dropped back down before wringing off his top shirt, leaving himself in just the sleeveless undershirt, already soaked through in places. Discarding the shirt in his hand, he jumped back up and grounded himself with some deep breaths. Then began slow, controlled pushups. He was only a few in, when he straightened his back, feeling the slightest twinge in his now healed stomach. A phantom of a pain long gone.

He lost himself in the pull and release, not counting how many he had done before he got bored and let himself back down.  
Din was sitting, leaning against a wall with one leg crooked up, an arm looped over it. His visor directed straight at Corin before starting away quickly when a door slammed in the distance. This wasn’t usual behaviour.  
He couldn’t exactly talk, so he opted to ignore it.

He went to continue his workout, but couldn’t bring himself to find the effort. It wasn’t working. Not the way he wanted it to. He needed something to actually hold his attention.

“D’you wanna spar?”

Din must feel the same kind of itch, because he immediately stands up and begins to remove and potentially dangerous tools off his person. Beyond that itch, and the tension in his chest, Corin felt a twinge of excitement. Sparring was definitely more interesting than pushups.

When Din was finished, they both moved further toward the centre of the room, aware the space was much smaller than the previous training room they had been in together. Might be a private one?  
Circling each other slowly, Corin eyed Din. He was definitely tense. Just as much, if not more than he was. Shifting slightly, he feinted a lunge before sweeping in and slapping the side of Din’s helmet. Straightening back up, Din rolled his shoulders before circling with him again. He moved fast enough Corin was barley able to deflect the blow to his side. He was putting some strength behind his hits. Not enough to hurt, but definitely not half-hearted.

They took turns for a short while. Both managing to deflect each other’s hits. Then Corin feinted again, stepping right before lunging in and grappling Din around the waist, twisting him onto the floor at his feet. As he fell, he kicked a leg out, hooking it into Corin’s knee, and sending him toppling down beside him. Rather than admit defeat, Corin dove at him when he rolled away, grabbing his shoulders and wrapping a leg around him before pulling him up and over, eventually rolling back on top with Din pinned face down beneath him.  
Panting heavily, he wasn’t ready when Din kicked a leg out before throwing his weight up and back to dislodge him, twisting around in his grip and throwing him off balance. Before he could recover, he felt Din keep moving, pushing him back with his body before pinning him, hands holding his shoulders down as he settled between his legs.

Oh. Rather than stop, he bucked up, throwing a leg over Din’s head and pulling him beneath it to the ground. Din wrapped his arms around Corin’s thigh and tried to get a knee under himself, to prop himself up. Corin kicked it out, sending Din sprawling back on top of him, loosening the hold he’d had on his leg.  
Seeing an opening, he leaped forward, rolling with Din, pushing against each other as they both tried to get the upper hand, grunting and panting with the exertion before Corin finally managed to send an elbow into his chest, giving himself the upper hand to pin Din to the floor once more.

Muscles shaking with exhaustion, on fire from even further exercise, he leaned back a bit, hands settling on either side of Din’s stomach as he bowed, trying to catch his breath. Below him, he could feel the quick pants as Din seemed to do the same.  
He could see the tremors run through his arms, and distantly wondered how they were managing to hold him up.

Some minor bad luck. As soon s the thought entered his head, his arms collapsed, and he was sent sprawling onto Dins’ chest.   
Exhausted, he likely couldn’t have moved even if he wanted to, forehead resting heavily against Din’s breastbone.  
He felt a hand come up, a small weight resting on his shoulders as fingers started to run through his hair. He hadn’t realised he was clutching onto Din’s shirt with a vice-like grip, fingers somehow finding strength through the post work-out numbness his limbs were falling into.

“What can I do?”  
Din still sounded a bit breathless beneath him, but mostly sounded concerned.  
Forcing strength back into his limbs, he pushed himself back up into a kneeling position, resting back on Din’s thighs.  
His confusion must have shown on his face.  
“What can I do to help?”  
Din’s voice was still soft, gentle. His hands rested lightly on Corin’s thighs, thumbs stroking back and forth.  
He couldn’t bring himself to look into the visor.  
“I don’t know,” he sighed, still slightly out of breath. Beneath him, Din seemed mostly recovered as well.  
Neither of them moved, except for Din reaching up off his legs, wrapping his fingers around Corin’s hands.

“He told me you were dead.”  
Din paused, fingers going still before continuing their ministrations, circling in his palms.  
“He said he handed you off to Karga for execution, that they had tried to take your helmet off, and I should give up on the hope of seeing you again,” his voice broke, cracking slightly as he recalled the conversation.  
“And, I believed him,” he hesitated before continuing, unsure why he felt like he needed to say his piece, “and I gave up.” His eyes clouded with tears. He still wasn’t used to crying.  
“I gave up, and stopped fighting.”

Staring down at their entwined hands, shamed, Corin waited for judgement. Waited for, something. Even he didn’t really know what.

“When the others picked me up, I was half dead,” Din’s soft voice coaxed him back out of his head. Giving him something to focus on.  
“When they told me the kid was safe, I was so relieved.”  
He paused, continuing his soothing patterns on Corins’ palms.  
“Then they told me you were scheduled for execution.”

Even through the modulator, the sound of Din’s voice giving, cracking on the word execution, was enough to spur Corin forward. He shifted forward on his knees, and slowly leaned down. Din’s head rose to meet him, Beskar meeting skin as the two shared another soft touch before slowly pulling apart.

“I’m glad they found you.”  
Corin offered him a weak smile, the best he could manage at that time.

The heat and solid of the body below him, the coolness of the Beskar. It was real. He wasn’t creative enough to dream this. Good luck was smiling down at them.

“I’m glad they got you to you in time.”

A chirp. They turned their heads toward the still closed door. To the kid standing within a few feet of them.

Huffing out a laugh, Corin reached out to them with one hand, pulling them close when they came nearer. Together the three wrapped around each other during the rare, peaceful moment.  
They were alive. They were together. They were a family.


End file.
